An Invincible Summer
by stuffsuchasdreamsaremadeon
Summary: After Dany's Throne is usurped from her by one she trusted, she must go into hiding or face the wrath of the new King. With nothing to her name and no one to trust, broken and frail, she flees to the North. Hoping she might seek shelter from the man she once cast away, from the knight who loved her and betrayed here, Dany must find herself anew amid the snow and the ice.
1. Chapter 1

It was the cold that woke her, silent and silver as it coiled around her limbs and chilled her bones. Her breath was a cloud before her, a phantom that lingered as a reminder of the choice she had made. She rose slowly, wincing as she saw the fresh set of bruises that covered her pale limbs.

The journey had not been kind to her. She could no longer remember how long she had been aboard, the memory swept from her as the merchant ship had rocked incessantly upon the proud waves. Vomiting nearly incessantly for the first few days, she had lost weight she had no way of regaining and as a result, her bones felt frail and the splotches of purple that greeted her each morning supported her fear. The first time she had truly caught glimpse of herself she very nearly laughed out loud.

Selmy had been right to cut her hair, she realized instantly. A trembling hand rose to stroke the cheek of the figure that stared back at her from the looking-glass, brushing aside short strands of black hair that once had been silver. Gone was the proud Queen and in her place was Moira, the serving girl that looked a baby bird, all skinny angles and wide eyes. Daenerys had trembled as Selmy raised the dagger, a hand reaching out to catch her beautiful hair, gleaming in the moonlight, but it had slipped from her fingers and fallen into the pile that grew steadily larger around her feet. It was still there, of course, between her thighs, but ser Barristan had dyed what remained atop her head a black so deep it glistened oily. Her soft lips were cracked by the salty air and it would have hurt her to smile, if she did. Her eyes were so very large, dulled by hunger, and were framed by cheekbones painfully prominent. There was so much dirt and grime upon her skin that for a brief moment, she wondered that if she could rip off it, could tear away the layer of skin she might find a reflection she knew awaiting her, the reflection of the girl that once had, for so fleeting a moment, had been Queen.

A cry rose from the deck and she slowly rose to her feet, a hand reaching out to rest against a barrel as she struggled. Keeping her gaze down, she slipped like a shadow through the sailors as they hoisted their wares from beneath the deck, crates and barrels and chests no doubt meant to entice prospective buyers in the market. When she reached the deck, Dany found tears spring to her eyes, the cold biting at her. Wrapping her threadbare shawl tightly over her thin shoulders, she stared at Bear Island.

The harbor was small, more a village than a town, and there were only a few lanes available for ships to dock. Merchants and sailors and shopkeepers moved swiftly along the boardwalk as the grey sea before them toiled and lept. A harsh wind had picked up, blown from the ocean and she shivered again, her gaze trailing along the simple wooden homes that lie on either side of a path, what appeared to be a simple square before her. It was green, Bear Island, and she saw endless trees stretched before her, rising and falling over proud hills and cliffs. It was feral, the isle, but the air was fresh and she saw the sun peek through the thick clouds above and she feared she would weep for the sight of it.

A sailor shoved her roughly, snarling for her to get out of the way, and she quickly obliged him. Her hands clutched the ladder fiercely as she reached the dock, nervously looking back and forth, unsure of where to begin or what to do. Deciding she might find food she could scavenge from the square, for whatever coin she had had been spent upon the journey, she clutched her parcel of clothing close. The dock swayed beneath her feet slowly as the waves brushed against the wooden beams that rested against the sand, increasing her nausea as her head ached for want of food and water.

As she reached the main path and felt solid land beneath her feet, the weeks at sea proved too much for her and she swayed, unused to the still of land, reaching out a hand to steady herself. A merchant bumped roughly against her, growling as he pushed her aside, and her balance was lost. She fell roughly to the ground, nearly passing out as her stomach heaved and her head pounded. Dany tried to get up and fell again, the darkness at the edges of her vision increasing, but was steadied as a hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

Strong arms pulled her slowly but gently to her feet, catching her as she nearly toppled again. Blinking slowly in her confusion, hunger eating away at her senses, she heard a deep voice ask if she was alright and when she did not reply, it asked again, more gently. In her utter exhaustion, it sounded familiar and she smiled briefly, wincing at the pain in her cracked lips. Dany looked up into the face of them man and bit back a cry, recoiling as she found herself staring into the face of a demon, feral and terrible as it gazed at her. But, the hands did not leave her shoulders and as she blinked, she realized it was naught but a tattoo, etched into a face.

They met eyes for a brief moment before she looked away, her cheeks burning as the man sighed. She wondered briefly whatever had possessed him to undergo such, for his eyes and his hands were kind. He repeated his question and she was immediately aware of the pain in his voice, loathing herself for her instinctive reaction. Still blushing furiously, she adjusted her shawl and kept her eyes low to the ground, attempting a small laugh as way of apology, but it was a dry, brittle sound and she cringed for it. "I…I am well, good ser," Dany whispered, "I am sorry for my rudeness and would thank you for aiding me."

Her voice was like fallen leaves, hinting at what once had been beautiful. The voice of the Queen was gone and for all her want, she could not find it. The power, the strength in her voice had died when Viserion had, her beautiful child cut down before her eyes. She had been silent, struggling against the strong arms that held her and bit her watch, determined not to show weakness, but as the swords had cut into his proud neck, she had screamed. There had been so much _blood_ she thought it would sweep over her and drown her, her son screaming as the swords had hacked again and again and again. A cry had been torn from her throat, as feral as the dying shrieks of the dragon before her, and it had echoed over the parapets of King's Landing. The memory brought tears to her eyes and she trembled, blinking them away as she heard the kind voice once more, "Are you sure, m'lady?"

Lady? How long had it been since she had been called that? She offered a little smile in return, brushing her skirt off, "I…I am, ser, and I thank you again." Dany walked away swiftly, uneager to draw too much attention to herself. She ran a hand through her short hair and sighed as her hand came away slick with grime and grease and a quick glance at her filthy clothes made her burn with humiliation. Still, she glanced up to the afternoon sun , she had no choice. Perhaps she might find a stream along the way to wash herself in, or at least do her best, for she was altogether unsure if a single bathing would rid her of the dirt and salt that soaked her, but this was nonetheless how she would go to the Mormonts.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was night when she reached the great hall, the path light by torches that illuminated the trees around her and burned bright against the moonlight. She had traded the last of her spare clothes for an apple and to rest against the back of a guide she had hired. The horse beneath them had been slow and stubborn and the man whom she clung to had been just as welcoming, answering what questions she had with a gruff yes or no, but he had no questioned why she had come and for that she was thankful. He had set her down outside the great earthen palisade and given her a brief nod before turning and riding back to the village.

It was bitter cold and she shivered violently, clutching her thin clothes tightly around herself as she began to walk. The torchlight flickered and guided her, but the darkness of the forest was so enveloping it frightened her. Dany could hear the occasional animal scurry through the underbrush, cracking twigs and pawing the earth, and trembled when they grew louder. She heard the quiet gurgle of a stream and was comforted slightly, the wind stirring her dark hair around her face as the looming Hall grew closer and closer. It was a quiet hall and she heard no noise of feasting from within.

Dany finally reached the great door, staring up at it with wide eyes. It was just as ser Jorah had told her, so very long ago. There was the maid, her babe at her breast, and there also was the axe in her hand. It seemed to glint as the torchlight fell upon it and she shuddered, unsure of what would await her within, axe or babe. She knew not who would greet her. There had not been time for her to seek word of him nor his kin as she had fled King's Landing. If ser Jorah lived, which itself was unlikely, would he greet her kindly, which she knew she did not deserve, or would he turn her aside, send her away as she had once done unto him?

She had missed him terribly, had longed for not only his wisdom but for his strong arms and broad chest. As her world had crumbled and shattered, broken by betrayal, Dany had longed for her bear, her sweet bear who had wanted his home more than anything else. Except for her, she remembered bitterly, he had loved and wanted her. She prayed he would remind the great kindness he had showed her, were he to await her beyond the great doors. She prayed that he might live, as well, even if he should turn her away. The memory of him formed a rough lump in her throat and she coughed it away, her frail shoulders shaking as she became aware once more of her hunger. If nothing else, she thought darkly, perhaps he would been kind enough to feed her before exiling her from his isle.

Steeling herself, she opened the doors and stepped into the light, a rush of warmth flooding over her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, the hall lit by a great hearth that roared from the back of the wide room. Simple, proud tapestries hung from the wall, images of great bears and mountains and streams etched into thread. Torches hung from the wall and a candelabra light bright with candles hung from the high roof. Tables built from broad limbs of a dark tree were lined through the hall, a small space between the rows creating a path that led towards a table elevated higher than the rest. A great chair was there, made of oak and inscribed with swirling designs that contrasted the simplicity of the room, smaller ones set beside it, no doubt intended for the lord and his family.

There were not many in the room, a few laughing or talking quietly over ale or bread, but they quieted as she walked silently past them, the rich smell of mead and meat assaulting her senses. Her hands trembled violently and she hid them in her sleeves, willing herself to be strong as she scanned the room, searching desperately for her knight long lost to her. Her heart fell when she did not see him and at the head of the hall, sat an old woman. She was proud, fierce and resplendent as her grey hair fell over the mail that adorned her. This was Maege, Dany instantly knew, the mother of warrior maids. A young woman was at her side, dark hair tumbling over wide shoulders and around a pretty face. The girl paused as the room watched Dany grow closer and closer, Maege perking a brow slowly as she finally reached them and knelt down.

"And just who might you be?" Maege asked, her voice firm but amused as Dany felt her gaze sweep over her. The hall was silent now and she feared they could hear her heart beat, pounding furiously in her slender chest as she paused, biting back the name Moira. It frightened her, that her false identity had been the first to leap to her tongue, but she swallowed hard, lowering her head in respect, "I would ask your permission, my lady, to speak to you in private, for I fear my answer is not what many would care to hear."

She glanced up through the dark locks that fell over her eyes and saw Maege set her chalice down, looking slowly around the room before replying sternly, "I see no reason why you should not speak truthfully, little one, for all of us to hear."

Gods be damned. Dany nodded after a moment, drawing a deep breath and willing herself to keep her voice strong, as strong as she could. "I am Daenerys Targaryen, my lady, rightful Queen of the Seven Realms and last of the _true_ dragons," Bitterness slid into her voice and she made no attempt to hide it.

Dany heard the girl gasp from beside Maege, no doubt silenced by a glare as the proud woman responded slowly, "Tell me, your Grace, for it seems I should address you as such, why you honor me with your presence?"

"I come as an exile, my lady," She conceded, her cheeks burning with shame, "To ask shelter of you. My enemies, and they are great, wish me dead and no doubt hunt for me even now. I fled my Throne for I was betrayed by one who claimed to be an ally, my child slaughtered before my eyes as I was made bid to watch. " Her voice trembled and she drew a slow breath, daring now to look up and meet the woman's bold gaze, "I will see your House honored, my lady, should you grant me this boon, I swear it unto you. I swear to you I shall see this debt repaid once my Throne is returned unto me."

"It says much of you," Maege mused, taking a sip from her pint, "to claim a Throne many would say you had no right to at all and then to lose it so swiftly, yet continue to promise for it."

Dany bit back a reply, her fists curling beneath her sleeves as she countered softly, "I was born to rule, Lady Mormont, your nephew himself told me. My fate is bound to the Throne."

"Ah," Maege nodded, leaning back in her great chair, waving a hand for Dany to rise, "you are the Khaleesi, my little bear spoke of when he-"

Her eyes widened and she stammered, interrupting as her heart leapt with hope, "ser Jorah lives?"

Maege's brow rose in return and Dany felt the crimson rise up in her cheeks as she replied sternly, "Now is not the time to speak of such, Lady Daenerys. Instead, we need speak of what exactly to do with you." She took a slow sip of her ale, setting the pint down beside her with a tired sigh. Dany briefly met eyes with the girl at her side and was comforted by the brief, gentle smile she flashed.

"You must remember, dragon," Maege continued grimly, her eyes growing dark, "My kin and I desire no promises nor rewards offered by the damned Throne. I lost a daughter for because of it, I lost one who should have been king and friends that should be at my side now, feasting and _living. _The North has grown tired of war and politics, of the plots and usurpations of the southrons who deem themselves above their station." Dany bit back another retort, shame twisting her stomach into a knot as the bear matron continued, "We wish no part in your dealings. We wish peace. We want to see our children grow and our homes rebuilt, crops replanted and wounds healed."

"And they will be, my lady," Dany could not stop herself from speaking, rage briefly flashing across Maege's face as she interjected, "I will bring peace to the Realms, I swear it to you. We would have peace now, were I not betrayed, and the North would be free to do as it wished. I know you and your people have suffered, I have heard of your King in the North and the bear maid that served at his side, I know of their bravery and their nobility. I will give you peace, my lady, once I have my Throne, I swear it on my life and the blood that flows in my veins, I swear it to you."

Her chest heaved as she grew quiet, for her voice has risen with the passion, the pride and strength of the Mother of Dragons returning to her as her words had rung through the hall. She spied tears briefly in the eyes of the daughter beside Maege, flickering in the brown depths as the girl nodded in agreement. Maege was silent, her knuckles white as her fingers clenched around her drink. She rose slowly, the light glinting off her mail and the silver streaks in her dark hair. "Knowing this, Daenerys Targaryen," She spoke coldly, "Knowing how I, how _we _have suffered because of the gods damned Throne and the fool that sat upon it, you dare to come here? I know of how you turned my nephew away and I suspect that you encouraged that which you desired not before you bid him leave. The North bled as your father tore the Realms apart and you would have us bleed again for a Queen that spurned the aid of one of our own?"

She had been a fool to come here, Dany realized instantly as Maege's dark gaze met her own, her mere presence was an insult. All her life, she had tried to free herself of the Mad King's shadow, but the North remembered, rightly so. She had turned away one of them, the rightful lord of their hall and their isle, humiliated him and scorned him. She had been wrong to turn him away.

She had been wrong to come here.

Dany opened her mouth to speak but stopped as tears pricked her eyes and burned her throat, lowering her gaze as she grew silent. Maege leaned to whisper to her daughter, who nodded and slipped away a moment later, her bright gaze briefly meeting her own. Finally, Maege broke the silence of the hall and spoke, her voice ringing against the wooden beams as she questioned with an unexpected gentleness, "Where will you go, little dragon, should we turn you away?"

"I have nowhere else to go," Dany whispered, kneeling once more. "I have no home, no kin nor allies that would shelter me, Lady Mormont. That is why I come before you now," She wanted to add that the only one she had ever truly trusted had been her nephew, had been ser Jorah, her sweet bear that had not been here to greet her as she had so desperately hoped. He had been her last hope when all was lost and her heart ached for him. As her fury had faded and the grey sea had toiled beneath her feet during her journey, she had prayed for his peace. She had prayed for his life and that he might have happiness without her. He deserved happiness, he deserved a wife that loved him, that would smile at him and bare him strong songs and gentle daughters to fill his hall. A lump rose in her throat as the bitter pain of his absence washed over her and she swallowed hard, her voice soft, "I am here because I have nowhere else."

"And what will become of you, should I deny your plea?" Maege continued and Dany lifted her eyes, her voice simple in its honesty. "I will die, my lady, as many wish and as perhaps I deserve."

The warrior bear stared at her, her hands by her side and Dany saw a brief glimmer in her bold gaze, a flicker of something she could not identify. A hint of a smile crept across her face and Dany blinked, certain that in her hunger and exhaustion her vision betrayed her, but it lingered as she sat, leaning back in her chair and drawing a slow sip from her ale before laughing, "I had thought you a liar, when you first declared yourself a dragon, little one, for you look more a starved beggarboy than even a maid, but I see I was wrong. You are a dragon, even if not in looks, it is in your eyes. Your eyes betray your blood, Targaryen, for better or for worse you are a dragon."

Dany stammered a brief thank you, confused by the sudden change in temperament of the Lady of Bear Island, inclining her head respectfully as Maege continued, "You are also lucky, my dear, that the choice of whether to aid you is rests not upon my shoulders. Were it up to me, I would turn you away for your stupidity in coming here and in turn, risking all of our lives, but alas, such a choice is not mine."

Daenerys blinked in absolute confusion, watching as Maege's daughter suddenly reappeared, leaning with a wide grin upon a doorway to her right. A man stood beside her, but in the flickering torchlight she could not make out his features, save his tall, strong form. She looked back to Maege, her eyes wide as the woman smiled faintly, waving a hand for her to rise. She did so and stared with wide eyes as the figure stepped forward from the shadows.

It was the man from the harbor, his chest rising and falling swiftly as he stared at her, the confusion visible even through the lines that marked his hideous face. Dany nearly took a step back, glancing in fear to Maege, who only smirked at her, then moved tentatively forward towards the man. He blinked at her, shaking his head as if she were a dream and whispered, "Khaleesi?"

She froze. It could not be, but gods, oh gods, it was. Tears, raw and unashamed, sprang to her eyes as her voice cracked, "ser Jorah?"

He ran to her then and she wept as she fell into his strong arms, her knees cracking against the wooden floor as she sobbed into his broad chest. "You will be safe here, Khaleesi," His voice cracked as he held her tightly but carefully, as if she might break in his arms and the dream might shatter. Ser Jorah's lips pressed into her hair, his calloused hands brushing through the greasy, tattered strands as he nodded, his voice lowering to a whisper, "You will be safe, Khaleesi, I swear it."

"My bear," She wept helplessly, falling to pieces as he tightened his hold on her protectively, his strong chest pressed against her cheek, "My bear, I-"

He interrupted her, kissing her hair once more as he shushed her, his fingers brushing her chin to look up at him. Of course it was him, she smiled through her tears as his bright gaze met her own, how had she been so blind? "I swear it to you, Daenerys, I will let none harm you. On my life, you will be safe." And as ser Jorah whispered to her, she did not see the demon that was etched into his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came as her exhaustion flooded over her like a great wave, her vision growing hazy as she smiled to him. Daenerys said his name once more and then gave readily into the darkness, knowing nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing she knew was warmth. It sunk beneath her skin and blanketed her bones. The world was soft, gentle against her tired limbs and Daenerys wondered if she was dead. She did not mind it. It was peaceful, this endless slumber, but then she felt the thirst. Her eyes opened in a flash and she was coughing, gasping for breath and fighting against the thick blankets that covered her body. Her vision swarmed and she leaned over the bed, digging her fingers into the sheets, her frail shoulders trembling as she wretched emptily. Looking up, thinking of nothing but the nails that raked her throat with each breath of air, she spotted a pitcher of water on the bedside stand. She lunged for it, half-tumbling out of bed. Throwing her head back, she drank desperately and swiftly, nearly weeping with the pleasure of it.

Dany thought she heard a laugh, from far away, but thought nothing of it as she drank deeply, the water splashing over her shoulders and down her neck. She heard a laugh, distantly, and began to choke as she became full. The pitcher slipped from her hands and Dany began to cough violently, too weak to recoil as a slender hand patted her back. "Gods be good, you do love your dramatics, don't you?"

Any words Dany may have formed were lost to another bout of frantic coughing and the voice laughed, though kindly. "Shh, there's plenty where that came from. Seven hells, it's only water, Dragon Queen." There was a light snort. "We've got that and bears on the isle in the plenty. Don't worry, we won't be running out anytime soon, I'll promise you that."

Dany wiped the back of her mouth as she gained control of her breathing and glanced over her shoulder, curious as to who aided her. The girl, Maege Mormont's daughter with the bright eyes, smirked back at her. Her eyes widened as she remembered the events of what she presumed to be the evening prior. The girl took this for disappointment and cheekily inquired, "What? Disappointed these aren't my cousin's strapping arms?"

She blushed a furious scarlet and the girl laughed, helping tuck Dany back in and flicking her long, dark hair over her shoulder. "I was only joking. Poor timing, that's what my mother says," She shrugged lightly, "but I try nonetheless. Funny thing, isn't it? I'm named after the damsel your brother stole and here I am, tucking his little sister nicely into a bed I made for her. Not that you'd remember, of course. You looked rather like a wilted flower, Daenerys, passing out in the middle of everything."

Daenerys could only blink at the girl, who sat back and grinned, mischief bright in her eyes. "My mother says I talk too swiftly and too often. She's right, naturally, but I care not. I say all the words she's thinking."

"Your mother was gracious to hear me speak," Dany replied shyly, "I had thought her like to banish me from the isle upon first introduction."

Lyanna shrugged, "I doubt she would turn you away, even if it was her choice. Jorah clearly thought you decent enough and even if she denies it, his opinion means much to her."

She felt sick as she thought of how wrong he had been, images of fire and blood and war flashing in her mind. They both grew silent and a moment later her stomach grumbled loudly. She blushed again and Lyanna laughed. "You've been asleep for a day and a half. You've right to be terribly hungry."

Dany blanched and Lyanna laughed, "You really don't remember anything, do you?" She shook her head, her hands trembling as they folded the sheets around her. It was all a blur, a memory shrouded in fog and shimmering against the water. There had been hunger and pain and loathing and fear and regret. Lyanna sensed this and smiled gently, reaching out a hand to rest against her own. "It's alright, Daenerys. You'll be safe here, my cousin and my mother will see to it."

She sat up and moved to stand beside Dany, holding out her arms and stating confidently, "But first we need to get you bathed and out of bed. Seven hells, I could see all your ribs and bones when Jorah laid you down. I thought you were going to break in his arms, you were so _thin_." _He carried me_, Dany thought, _my sweet bear carried me after all this time. _She gave a little smile to Lyanna, biting the inside of her lip roughly to force back the tears. _I do not deserve his care. I do not deserve any of this. _

Lyanna helped her out of bed, catching her with a laugh as she stumbled after the first few steps. She bathed her and gently scrubbed away the dirt that caked the fierce arches of her shoulder blades and rubbed a poultice on the sores dotting her thighs. The girl was kind to her and Daenerys thought of Irri and Doreah, of little Missandrei and wondered where they were now, if they thought of her and if they cared whether she was alive or dead. Tears of gratitude streamed down her face as Lyanna carefully worked a comb through her tangled, choppy hair until it shone, her fingers brushing lightly against her scalp to find and kill any pests that might have settled against her.

Lyanna Mormont was kind and quick, words and wit flowing from her mouth like quicksilver and marked by sudden, short laughter. The girl was fair enough, certainly, but her beauty was in her flashing grin and mischievous eyes. Daenerys was grateful that she did not question what had led her to the isle nor did she inquire about her past for she would not answer. Not yet, not when the pain was yet so fresh. She wondered if it would ever grow easier, the memories, the speaking. She had been so silent for so long that each word seemed an effort, each sentence a victory in its own right.

When she had been dressed in a soft robe, Dany ate a simple meal in the corner of their hall. The great hearth crackled behind her and she took the enormous room in anew, seeing the beauty in the polished rafters high above her head and in the intricate designs carving the benches that sat throughout the hall. It was strong and proud, needing no gilded edges nor adornments to prove itself beautiful. She thought of how ser Jorah had told her of his home, so very long ago. She remembered the pride and the pain in his voice as he spoke of the Isle he longed for above all else and she understood why.

She tore into her food as it was presented to her by a servant, ignoring the strange glance rewarded her in her hunger. Her bread and cheese seemed richer than any meal she had ever taken of and more delicious than anything that ever had been served to her. Dany ate so quickly that she feared for a moment she would be sick as Lyanna laughed from beside her, her dark eyes bright with curiosity as she watched the Mother of Dragons grow drowsy from food. Finally swallowing that last chunk of bread, Dany wiped her mouth with the wrist using all the grace she could muster. Her throat was still raw and her voice came out raspy, just above a whispered as she questioned, "Why did your cousin get his tattoo, if you mind not my asking? I…I had heard rumors that he traveled alongside the Imp, through the Free Cities, did he receive it there?"

Lyanna perked a brow slowly. "Of all the things you've got to ask about, that's your first one?"

Dany burned scarlet. In truth, she did not know why she had asked for him, the words had slipped from her mouth before she could hold them back. Lyanna grinned at her reaction, lowering her voice conspiratorially as she leaned in and perked a brow, "So, were you and Jorah lovers, then? I thought you might be."

Her jaw dropped slightly and she stammered as Lyanna cast her a curious glance, unsure of both what to say and what to do. "You can tell me, you know," The girl rolled her eyes, "I'm old enough to know of this sort of thing. I'm no delicate lady sure to blush at talk of love-making."

She thought of the night aboard the _Balerion_, of his lips and his tongue and the brush of skin against her own. There had been such blind, pure _hope _in his eyes, shining and rippling against the bright blue. And she had betrayed that hope, had used it to comfort her, she had used _him_. "No." She replied suddenly, "No we were not. Ser Jorah was a friend and an advisor to me, kind unto me when few else were."

Lyanna stared at her a moment longer, her gaze calculating, then shrugged lightly and flicked a lock of dark hair out of her eyes. "Just curious, that's all. Didn't mean to intrude. I've got plenty of other things I'd like to ask you about, when you're a bit more well and all."

Her eyes grew heavy then and Lyanna snorted with amusement, helping to led her back to her room as she amiably informed her that her mother would no doubt wish to talk to her once she was better rested and of course Jorah would. Too tired to speak, Dany merely smiled as she crawled beneath the warm sheets, nestling into the welcoming bed with a yawn. Lyanna grinned a farewell and curtseyed low. When the door had been shut, she turned on her side and looked around the room.

It was simple and scarce, but just as lovely as the hall had been. A woven tapestry depicted a forest and the bright sky above it, while a small table had been painstakingly carved from dark wood, a little chair set to match it. There was a small hearth that looked unused, but welcoming nonetheless. It made her feel more welcome than any gilded room she had called home, more than any palace or throne or tent. But, it was not her home and it would never be. _I have no home,_ she trembled, _No spot of earth can I claim my own and no earth will claim me when I die. I am the last of the Dragons and our strength is spent._

And, as she slipped into her sleep, she dreamt of her beautiful children and the ones she had loved and lost, all of them drowning beneath a sea of blood that seeped from her Throne.

OOOOOOOOOO

Daenerys grew aware of him before she was fully awake, her chest rising and falling slowly as curled into the warm bed. Her eyelids stirred but she did not move as she felt a hand carefully adjust the blankets around her, pulling them up around her frail shoulders as she had kicked them downwards in her nightmares. The room was silent save for the sound of his gentle breathing. Another hand moved downwards, this time into her hair. It trembled as it passed through her short, dark locks and moved them out of her face. Her breath caught in her throat as the familiar callouses brushed against her brow, tiny scars and knicks catching against her cheekbone as Jorah's fingers moved so very tenderly she feared she was dreaming. He feared to touch her, even now, all the time later and she trembled beneath the blankets. Dany could not remember the last time she had been touched and not shoved, caressed and not beaten. The world was rough and cold and harsh. She knew that now.

But the hand moved and she heard Jorah's footsteps echo towards the hearth. She peeked through her eyelids and watched him kneel, adjusting the dying fire and replacing the burned log. Stirring and yawning now, wanting to alert him of that she had woken, he glanced over his shoulder. She nearly flinched, the hideousness of the tattoo had faded from her memory, but hid it as she offered a faint smile. He stood upright immediately, embarrassed, "Khaleesi, I had not meant to disturb your slumber, I only wanted to-"

"It's alright," Dany whispered, "This is your home and I am but a guest." She laughed quietly and it came out a sharp wheeze. The action was unnatural to her now. "If anything, I should be the one tending your fires and seeing to your needs."

Jorah shook his head, his voice gentle, "You showed me great kindness, Khaleesi, by giving an old knight something to fight for once again. This is naught but repayment for such grace." _Khaleesi. _She could not remember when she had been called that. The word was a memory, hot and dry. Jorah smiled faintly at her pause, "You will be safe here, Khaleesi. I swear it. For as long as you need remain, we will not turn you away."

A silence fell between them and she could not meet his eyes. Her blistered hands, raw and sore from the seawater that had drenched them for weeks, clutched at the blanket. He moved to the bed, cautious for a moment, then sat across from her. Jorah looked to her, his voice softer than ever, "Might I speak true, Khaleesi?"

Glancing up briefly, she nodded, the heat of the hearth starting to warm her further. Jorah ran his tongue over his lower lip. "I…we had heard rumors, of course, of what had happened in the South, in King's Landing, but only rumors. Vague ones at that." His blue eyes met her own. "How did this come to be, Khaleesi?"

She knew not how to respond, how even to begin to speak of what had happened since their parting. It was not even for lack of desire that her lips could not form words and her breath could not muster in her lungs. She wanted to tell him, to cry against him and press her head to his broad, familiar chest as she had only two days prior, to feel safe and warm in his arms, comforted by her great bear, but she could not. Desperately she wanted him to understand, to let someone else share her pain and her anger and her grief.

But there was no way to explain the sadness. It had sunk beneath her skin and blanketed her bones. Even blinding fury and grief so vibrant she thought her heart might shatter were dulled by it. Where there once had been heat, then was only warmth. Light was curtained and joy was tainted, her tears frozen. It was in every breath and every blink and she knew she could not outrun it nor escape it and for that it broke her all the more, that terrible sadness.

Dany had not noticed the tears slipping down her cheeks. Trembling fiercely now, she looked up from her hands and saw the pity in Jorah's eyes. She looked away, closing her eyes and choking back the words she wanted to say but could not.

"Khaleesi," Jorah breathed, his voice so soft she feared she might have imagined it, "Khaleesi, you need not speak of this so soon. I had simply though…_no_, I had not thought at all and in my folly I-"

"It's alright," She whispered in a voice like glass, "You should know, you _deserve _to know." A bitter laugh escaped her throat, "Do you think all this would have been different had I not sent you away, ser Jorah? That, that perhaps had you been at my side I would have been on that Throne for more than three days and even now that crown would grace my brow? I would not blame you if you admitted that I should have listened to you, should have shown you what kindness you did unto me." She loathed herself for such petty words against what generosity he had shown unto her, but she could not stop, not now. She wanted him to hate her. Why would he not? Jorah should have laughed at her, mocked her and turned her and away and yet he did not, so she went one step further. "Does it please you to know that I failed without you?"

"_No._" She flinched. There was more anger in his voice than she had ever heard, thick and dark. Her bear had growled. "Do not think, not even for a moment, Daenerys, that I wanted this. I wanted you happy, I wanted you to have that Throne and that crown almost as much as I wanted you. Not ever would I have wished this upon, upon those dragons. Do you forget that I saw them the day of their birth?" Jorah roared now and she could see the tears in his eyes. "I watched them grow, Khaleesi, at your side, day by day and I grew to care for them more than you could ever imagine. I would have seen them grow proud and as fierce as their mother, to take to the skies as their kin of old. I would have _died_ to save them, had you asked it of me. I would have died to save _you_." He drew a breath, shaking with rage. "How dare you think I would desire this when I had loved you?"

Dany could only stare. Jorah closed his eyes and she whispered an apology a moment later, a string of words loosely bound together. He did not respond but instead rose to his feet. Hating herself, no, loathing herself for her cruelty to him, she reached out for him, grasping at his hand but he brushed her away. "Jorah…ser Jorah, please, I did not mean, I was-"

He cut her off, his voice gruff, "You are tired, Khaleesi, we will speak on the morrow when you are more rested."

Jorah turned then and left without another word. She sank back beneath the covers, the crackling of the fire distant. Dany knew she had made a mistake, a grave one, and she did not sleep that night for it.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days were painful, moreso than she could have imagined. Her body, now well rested and no longer wracked with hunger, was sore and unwieldy as she slowly grew stronger. Her legs trembled when she stood for too long and Dany could still see the harsh jut of her ribcage beneath her shift, but the little sores that dotted her ankles and shoulder blades began to heal. Lyanna seemed constantly at her side, quicksilver smile and bright eyes, urging her to eat a bit more or take a walk through the hall or rest for the evening. Despite her youth, the girl was wickedly smart, though different from the wisdom Missandrei had exuded all the time ago. Lyanna was mischievous where the girl had been obedient, proud where her friend had once been quiet. She took after her mother, certainly, and Dany found herself growing immensely fond of the girl.

Maege was often gone, attending to business about the isle and though she had tried to seek out Jorah repeatedly, she had been unable to speak to him since their argument. Well, it had not been _their_ argument, she knew that, in fact it had not even been an argument at all. She had been needlessly cruel, driven by her self -pity to insult the one person in the Realms who accepted her in her exile and shame. Disgusted by herself and eager to apologize for her pathetic display, to at least try and mend the wrong she had caused, Dany often inquired if she might have a moment with the Lord of Bear Island but was always denied.

Jorah found time to avoid her and the few times their paths had crossed in the hall, he had turned his gaze from her own and quickened his steps before she could so much as utter his name. It pained her, this distance between them, for even in their arguments when she had been a Khaleesi, Jorah had always listened. Jorah had always been there. _Until I sent him away_, Dany thought bitterly as she slipped a soft shift over her shivering limbs, _until I doomed myself with his absence. _ A few minutes later and she had removed three layers, each warmer than the last as she prepared for bed. In the week she had stayed, Dany had yet to venture out into the true cold of the isle. Maege had kindly but firmly forbid her to do so, not until she was stronger, for the cold and the chill could kill even the most hardy of bears, were they careless. The hall, however, was always warm and at night, the thick blankets that covered her were more than enough for comfort.

Still, for all the comfort and care she was shown, she could not rid herself of that veil of sadness that dimmed her vision and slowed her steps. It was the heaviest at night as she lay awake. The fire would crackle and snap in the hearth, casting flickering images against the wall. Some nights she saw her children, her beautiful dragons roaring and burning and living. Sometimes she saw Drogo's fire, the broad, bold form of her husband falling into ash and flickering against the bright stars above the blaze. She saw Viserys and Quaithe and Selmy and a thousand other faces and figures that she would never see again. She dreamt of them each night and nearly every morning when she awoke, her fingers were knotted into the thrashed sheets and her shift was soaked with sweat. No, the sadness did not leave. Dany knew the sadness would never leave. A wound cut open by betrayal could never truly heal.

She was still awake by the time the fire was out, staring at the embers slowly fading. A soft knock came suddenly at the door and Dany stirred, certain that in her desire to sleep she had imagined the noise. However, it came again. She stared, thoroughly confused and squinting in the darkness. The door opened and Lyanna, barefoot and clad in her shift, tentatively stepped into the room. Before she could address her, the girl spoke up, "Dany," She whispered, casting her eyes down, "I…I hope I did not wake you."

"You did not," Dany admitted, "but whatever are you doing awake, Lyanna? You should have been asleep hours ago."

"I tried," Lyanna replied softly, her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Dany waited for an explanation, but upon receiving none, spoke again, "Is there something wrong?"

"No," She shot back, "I just-I just thought maybe you would be awake." Lyanna trailed off again and despite the shadows of the room, Dany could see the bright, mischievous light was gone from the girl's eyes. Something had upset her, this much was clear, and she remembered how she had snuck into Viserys' bed as a girl not much younger than Lyanna. The thunderstorms had terrified her and somehow her brother's presence had been enough to console her into sleep, the warmth of his body comforting and familiar.

"If you don't get in bed, Lyanna," Dany replied, "Your feet will freeze and your mother will blame me. Because neither of us would wish that, why don't you join me in bed for a bit?" She moved over to make room. "I'm wide awake now and you can stay as long as you wish."

The girl stared at her for a moment then wordlessly crawled in beside her. Laying back down, Dany smiled over at her, hoping to make her more comfortable. "Sometimes, when I couldn't fall asleep, my brother would tell me stories about Westeros and when he ran out, he would invent his own. They were never very good and the endings were always sad but I loved them nonetheless."

Lyanna snuggled beneath the covers, her little form turning on its side to face her. "I tell Mother I'm too old for stories so I don't seem like one of those stupid babes crying and whining but I still like them. I like exciting stories, I suppose, but I like good endings."

_And how many times were you denied a happy ending of your own_, Dany could not help but wonder even as she smiled back kindly, _did you hope for a happy ending even as they killed your king and your sister? _ "You might ask Jorah to tell you a little story, I should think. He has seen enough to no doubt spin a beautiful tale. If you ask nicely, I also doubt he'll tell your mother of your fondness for them."

"But I don't want to hear Jorah's stories," Lyanna huffed with a little toss of her head, "Jorah's stories are always boring because he had to tell them to Mother over and over again because she didn't believe him when he returned." Her voice grew gentler and an affectionate smile appeared on her face, "I thought he went mad from the heat across the Sea and couldn't grow used to the cold here, but when he described your dragons in so much detail I knew he had to be telling the truth. He told me all about Viserion and Rhaegal and Drogor."

"….Drogon," Dany finally whispered in reply, a tremor in her voice. "His name was Drogon."

"He's dead now, isn't he? That's why you had to come here."

"Yes. They all are dead."

Lyanna shifted slightly, biting down on her lower lip. "Do you miss them, Dany?"

"Yes," She nodded, choking down the lump in her throat, a faint, sad smile appearing on her lips. "I miss them every day and every minute. I will never stop missing them."

Lyanna grew quiet for a long moment. She cast her brown eyes down at the sheets, swallowing hard, and murmured. "I miss Dacey."

Dany instantly understood why the girl had come. Her heart swelled with pity as Lyanna continued, her fingers picking at the fibers of the blanket, "She used to let me crawl in bed with her, just like this, when I couldn't sleep or after I stole a few sips of wine when Mother wasn't looking. She used to make up stories about where Jorah was, how Jorah was rescuing princesses with names I couldn't pronounce and was bringing honor to our House. I…I had never met him before but Dacey made him into a hero." The girl's voice cracked. "Dacey told me the best stories."

"You must miss her very much."

"Sometimes I talk like her, to remember how she sounded," Lyanna admitted, rolling onto her back and staring up at the dark ceiling, "I don't want to forget her voice so I talk like her but sometimes I still forget."

She had never done such with Viserys, after his death. He had burned before her and she had shrugged it off. There had been regret, yes, but oh how it had paled beside such great relief. Still, it amazed her that Lyanna was here, that out of all who slept in the hall, she had been the one chosen. If anything, it startled her that the girl thought so much of her already as to trust her with her feelings when no doubt Maege was unaware of such. Men and women, great lords and priestesses and commanders had come to her before, yes, but to curry favor and flatter her. They offered her gold and empty promises, their eyes stern and cautious, and the desire for power trembled in their words.

But Lyanna, Lyanna had come to simply be with her. The girl thought of her as a friend. Dany realized how utterly unused she was to such. "Have you told your mother any of this, Lyanna? She would listen to you."

"No. She's sad too, sadder than I am, but she never shows it." Lyanna nodded to herself. "Mother is very strong."

"But you're strong, too, Lyanna, you are stronger than I could ever be." Dany added softly, her fingers stroking gently against her soft cheek to comfort her. "…You don't even cry. When I was your age, I used to cry over even the littlest thing."

Lyanna turned instantly, her voice cracking, "But I wish I could cry. I want to cry, more than anything, because it would make it easier. I want to cry, I'd weep if I could, I'd weep until there were no tears left in me, but I cannot. Something won't let me. I…I'm too sad for tears." _As I am_, Dany agreed silently, _my grief has turned my tears into dust. _Biting down on her lip, Lyanna angrily shook her head. Her fingers curled tightly into the sheets as she exclaimed. "That…that _damned_ war took all of it. It took our king and it took Dacey and it took my tears."

Dany was silent for a long moment. Finally, she wrapped her frail arms around Lyanna's warm, slender form, pulling her close. The girl was still, then curled up into her embrace, trembling slightly. "I want her back, Dany. I-I miss her so much."

"I know, love, I know." Dany closed her eyes, kissing the top of the girl's head. "Your sister was so terribly brave, braver than I could ever be. She died at your king's side, she died defending the North and she died a Mormont." The lump in her throat grew larger and larger, a tremor appearing in her voice as she held Lyanna tight against her. "-There she stood, until the very end, as true and as strong as any knight or lord."

"I prayed to the gods," Lyanna sniffled, her voice barely above a whisper, "I prayed to them every day. I would spend hours in the godswood. I offered them everything I had." The tears came suddenly and swiftly. Dany felt them gathering against her collarbone and soaking through her shift as the girl buried her head against her shoulder. "I don't know what I did wrong, Dany. I tried. I did everything I was supposed to. I-I-it isn't _fair_, Dany! Dacey didn't do _anything_. She was good and she was kind. She never hurt anyone and the gods were supposed to care about the North, they were supposed to care about _us_!" Lyanna finally fell to pieces in her arms, weeping helplessly as she clung to her with an absolute desperation.

Dany closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her, and swallowing the tears that threatened to spill forth. Lyanna sobbed helplessly, her slender form shaking furiously despite her firm embrace. What pity had first stirred her heart turned into anger, black and terrible and burning as she buried her head into her shoulder, desperate to quiet her soft cries. No child, no sweet, brave child should have to know this pain, should have to wait in vain for a sister and a friend that would never return.

Part of her knew that she too was responsible. She had brought death and fire and blood with her when she crossed the Sea. Her armies, now slain or in ruins at the hands of the Golden Company, had killed with a fury that startled even her. How many Lyannas had there been because of her war? How many sisters and brothers and husbands and wives and sons and daughters had died for that Throne? How many tears were shed for the crown that had so very briefly rested against her silver brow? It sickened her now to think of it.

She allowed Lyanna to cry, holding her tight and kissing the top of her head. She murmured comforting things, words steeled with a strength she did not truly have herself, and assured the girl such was alright. Lyanna was so terribly strong, that youngest Mormont, and even in grief her eyes still shone with a bright light that could not be quenched.

Lyanna eventually fell asleep, her sobs subsiding into quiet breathing. Once Dany was certain she would not wake, she slipped from the bed and looked down at her. Gods, she was so small, so young. _She is but a child, _Dany swallowed hard, _but a child with the weight of grief bearing down too hard upon her shoulders. She should not know this, not now. No child should suffer as such. _Tucking the girl in carefully, brushing her fingers lightly through her thick brown hair, she felt a great swell of anger rush through her veins, hot and terrible.

She knew not truly who or what the rage was directed towards nor what had caused it. But as she looked at Lyanna, her pity boiled into fury. It felt strange to her, this anger, raw and feral, as it grew and grew. It had been so long since she had felt anything save an emptiness, that grey mist that blanketed her heart and numbed her even to grief. No, the anger was slowly burning that fog away with piercing, bright rage.

Dany strode from the room, barefoot and clad in naught but her shift. She should have been cold, she was aware of that as she angrily walked through the silent hall and down the corridors lit by dying torches, but there had been a fire kindled in her. That was warmth enough. She moved to the great wooden doors, the firelight flickering over the woman and her babe. It cast her in rich colors that danced and swirled. She was strong, that woman, with her axe and with her child. She was proud and unashamed, fierce and beautiful and everything Dany had once wanted to be and everything she had not been in the end.

Dany swung the door open. The cold air made her gasp. It coiled around her ankles and slipped beneath her shift and stirred her hair. The moon was bright and the stars shimmered against the black sky. All was silent save the gentle breeze as it swept through the thick trees towering above her. It was peaceful. It was beautiful.

Her rage roared all the more then, with a ferocity that both thrilled her and terrified her, and she gave into it.

Her feet blindly carried her as she ran into the night. She ran over stone and branch and earth and brush. Her heart soared and her breath came quick, trees rushing past her as she sprinted with a fury she had never known. Dany did not feel the cold at all. She only felt the wind against her shoulders and arms. Fury carried her and grief spurred her limbs. Blind to everything save the emotions that poured over her in a great wave, she ran and ran and ran until she lost herself. The Khaleesi was slowly stripped away, the Mother of Dragons disappearing into the dark trees and even Daenerys left her. She was bare beneath the moonlight, a silver flash against black and grey and green. She was an animal, feral and real and breathing and gods, she was _alive._ She was living. She was alive. She was _alive. _

Gnarled branches tore at her shift and scratched her pale skin but it made her feel all the more real. She knew not how long she had run nor where she was but her legs, still yet frail, gave out suddenly beneath her. Dany collapsed onto the soft grass, gasping for the cold breath that burned into her lungs. The green stems beneath her were chilled with frost and glittered in what moonlight streamed through the thick leaves above her. It was utterly silent save her labored panting and the gentle sway of the towering trees but it was a strange silence, unnatural. No owls chirped and no creatures scittered through the underbrush. Even the very wind itself seemed reserved, cautious and respectful. She did not feel welcome,

Her heaving chest finally slowing to a pace comfortable, Dany rose and glanced around her. She had heard of godswoods, yes. She knew of the Old Gods and the sacred places built to honor them in the North. The ancient trees were still save the soft breeze and in the moonlight she saw their carved eyes cast upon her. They were crude but seemed all the more real for it, unblinking and blind. The grove itself was simple, unburdened by adornments, and there, prouder than the rest, stood a heart tree. It looked as though fresh blood that stained the leaves, the crimson so rich it appeared wet in the soft light.

It stared her down, the ancient tree, and in the silence it seemed to whisper to her in a voice both bold and soft, a thousand whispers from a single throat. _You are not welcome here, _the great tree warned, _you know not of the forest and the wind and the earth. You know not of the ice._

"But I wanted to know of them," Dany defended herself, her voice seeming so small, "I…I wanted to plant trees. I wanted to see them grow."

_And instead you burnt them, child. You are a creature of fire._

"All life must come from death," She whispered, "From fire comes ash and from ash comes new life. I would have brought new life. I would have brought _peace." _

_ You brought death. _

"There has always been death. I brought death so that others might yet live. I…I brought an end to the war when I crossed the Sea. My armies killed, yes, but I would have given the Realms their peace. I would have, I…I _will _be a good Queen, as good and as true as any."

_You would have been cruel. You would have been a tyrant. You would have been as mad as the father before you._

"But I have a gentle heart," She pleaded angrily, her violet gaze meeting the black eyes of the heart tree, "I have a gentle heart and I was - was born to rule."

_ You will never be Queen._

"I will have my Throne." Her voice was a growl now. The wind picked up, rustling like laughter through the trees.

_You are the last of your kind. The blood of the dragon is spent. You are broken._

"_I am not broken!" _ Dany roared now, her eyes bright with pride and pain as her voice cut through the silence of the godswood. "I am the Khaleesi, I am the blood of the Dragon and I am the Unburnt!" Tears sprung to her eyes as the wind grew louder and louder. Her voice cracked as she cried out above it, her short hair billowing around her face. "I am Stormborn and I am the Mad King's Daughter! I am _Mysha _and the Breaker of Chains!" The wind shrieked now, icy and brutal as it cut into her. "I am Daenerys Targaryen and I will take back what is mine with fire and blood!"

The forest grew silent as she fell to her knees, tears sliding down her pale face. Her shift was in tatters now, ripped and torn and as dirty as her bare feet. Her pride exhausted, she slowly lifted her gaze to the heart tree, standing prouder and fiercer than the rest surrounding it beneath the moonlight. The voices and the voice was softer now and though there was judgment, also there was pity as it murmured, _You are nothing._

"But I have never been nothing," Dany whispered in reply but the trees said nothing. Alone now, the silence overwhelming, she finally wept because she knew the gods spoke true. _I am a broken, brittle thing, _her trembling hands curled into fists by her side, her fingers digging into the cold earth beneath her. _And when men see that which is broken, they do not look upon the glittering pieces and admire their _s_hattered beauty. There is naught but contempt for that which once was strong and now is ruined. _Her sobs grew stronger now and her head lowered as she admitted the truth to herself, the truth she had known deep in heart and had cast aside for so long. _Never will I have my Throne. _

Snow began to fall now. They fell against her hands and her shoulders, wet and soft as she wept. Upon her brow a crown of ice settled but she took no notice of it, her frail body shaking against the freezing air.

Dany did not know how long she had been there, alone and broken in the godswood. The sun had not yet glimmered on the horizon and the moon was still yet bright as the snow continued to fall around her. She knew she was dying, that no creature of fire could survive against ice, but she did not feel the cold. Instead, Dany was contented. She was at peace, there before the Gods and there amongst the snow.

Dany did not flinch as a hand brushed against her shoulder, her head hung. However, as the familiar callouses tenderly stroked against her cheek, she looked up with eyes hazy with tears. The man kneeled in the snow before her, his dark eyes sad as his fingertips kissed them away.

"You did not cry when you were at my side, moon of my life."

"I was not afraid then," Dany smiled faintly, her voice a whisper, "I was strong. I was _Khaleesi."_

"And so you are now," Drogo interjected and she watched the snowflakes melt against the strong, warm arches of his bare shoulders, "You are _Khaleesi _and I am _Khal."_

"I am no Khaleesi," She laughed bitterly, lowering her head in shame before looking up to meet his bright gaze, "They cut my braid, my sun and stars. I have known defeat and never again shall I know victory."

Drogo growled softly, his broad hands moving to brush through her short, dark locks, more curious then cautious. His touch was warm and familiar. A deep, aching pain rose in her as she released how much she had missed him. "You are strong, moon of my life, and always you will be."

"I wanted to have it," Her voice cracked as she replied and the tears sprung fresh, "I wanted that Throne for you, for Rhaego, for _us._" Dany closed her eyes, her shoulders shaking as she whispered, "You should have been at my side, my Khal. Our child, our Stallion should have grown to have your eyes, your smile-"

His lips pressed against hers and she was silenced, trembling fingers reaching up to brush against the familiar angles of his cheekbones and jaw. Drogo held the kiss a moment longer then pulled back, resting his forehead against her own as he murmured, "We will wait for you, Khaleesi. We have watched and we are proud."

"I am so sorry, my sun and stars," Dany pleaded but he silenced her again, his calloused fingers pressed against her soft lips. "We will wait. Rhaego and I will wait with your children. We will miss you but we will wait." Drogo stood then and she looked up with him with wide eyes, her hands reaching out for him. The Khal smiled then, his brown eyes bright with contentment and love as he took a step back, her fingers touching naught but the frozen air. "We will wait, moon of my life."

He melted then into the snowflakes and into the snow, his bold form gone in a blink. Dany opened her mouth to cry out for him but her tears were frozen and the wind chilled her tongue. She swayed, overcome by the ice as her vision faded, but before she sank into the snow she felt another pair of hands against her. But, it was not enough and she thought of Drogo before she knew nothing else.


	4. Chapter 4

She slept without dreams, a sleep so deep it seemed she might never wake and when Dany finally stirred, the weight of her slumber bore down upon her and she feared she would be unable to open her eyes. Her violet eyes, still heavy, slowly opened and she blinked once. It occurred to her briefly that she was not dead, quite the opposite in fact, and she was not sure whether she was glad for it. She was no longer in the godswood, that was certain, and as she stared at the flickering firelight cast on the wooden ceiling above her, she knew she was indoors.

She was also warm, buried beneath thick blankets soft against her fingers and bruised limbs. She should be cold but she was not and she was grateful for that, at least. Dany shifted as she heard the crackle of embers. The bed beneath her was ancient, the headrest carved in dark wood spiraled with strong designs, a crude bear's head adorning the center. The room itself was larger than her own but was clad in the same banners and tapestries, images of forests and bears and swirling lines that twisted and curled.

Dany wondered if she was dreaming, if she was still in the snow, in Drogo's strong embrace, but blinked in surprise as she glanced towards the hearth. The fire was dying, a single log glowing above a bed of fading embers, and in front of it was her shift. It was tattered, practically shredded and patterned with earth and crimson. She realized it was her blood against the thin fabric, drawn from her by the forest and by the ice. A moment later, she glanced beneath the sheets only to see herself clad in a large, simple shirt that fell down to her thighs. She was naked it beneath it and as she pulled it up over her thighs, she could see the little knicks and bruises cut into her pale legs.

A noise came from across the room and she froze, her gaze searching for it and when she found the source, she relaxed. There in the corner, clad in thin blanket, was Jorah. This was his room, she knew instantly, he had taken her here. He had dressed her in his shirt and he had laid her in his bed to save her from the ice. He slept now, his muscled chest rising and falling beneath the blanket. _My bear, _her eyes grew soft as she looked at him, _my sweet bear has saved me again. _He looked so peaceful, so content that for the first time she found herself not repulsed by the markings dug into his face. It was simply Jorah, Jorah who had loved her and who had betrayed her, dreaming of something that made him happy. _I never gave him that peace, _she realized, _how many nights did I rob him of sleep, of dreams of his home and his family? _She watched as he rolled onto his side, curling up against the chill of the room. _He would have been better off had he never met me. _

His shirt smelled like him, she noticed, her gaze never leaving him. It smelled like wood and earth and stone and warmth. It was a comforting scent, simple against the rich perfumes she had known for so long. She turned to get a better look at him, to try and understand how the dying firelight fell over the sharp planes of his weathered face, but the bed creaked beneath her. Jorah's eyes instantly opened and she found her own met his. It was silent then, save for the crackle of the embers.

"How did you…" _Save me,_ she wanted to say, but she choked the words back, "find me?"

"Lyanna said you were gone. She went to find and could not. She feared she had made you uncomfortable." His gaze grew hard. "You hurt her."

_As I have hurt all of you. _"I did not mean such, I swear it." Dany tried to rise from the bed, "I would never hurt her, ser Jorah." She was still exhausted and as she nearly stumbled forward, Jorah was suddenly there, tossing off his blanket.

His broad arms encircled her. "You nearly died," He growled, "I thought you dead when first I found you, so pale you near disappeared into the snow. You were a fool to leave the Hall to begin with, much less in the middle of the night without so much as a warning." If Jorah knew that it had been intentional, that some part of her had wanted to slip beneath the snow and appear reborn, glistening and ivory when the sun thawed the earth beneath it, he did not let on. "Were it not for...had I not heard you talking, I would never have found you."

"But you did," She said softly and Jorah grunted, helping her once more into bed. A silence fell between them and he did not meet her gaze.

"You need your rest. You need to sleep." He finally stated. She watched him walk across the room, leaning down to pick up his blanket. The shadows of the room fell over his broad back and Dany noticed that he was stronger than ever, her bear. His muscled shoulders were proud, his chest lithe but muscled and she knew she must have looked but a child, sick and frail, in his arms. "I'll have Lyanna come check on you in the morning."

He laid the blanket over her and as his hand moved past her, she stayed it, her slender fingers resting over it. Jorah flinched but looked to her, his bright gaze murky with anger and confusion. Dany swallowed hard, her voice choked with emotion as her pain and her sorrow rose in her throat, her voice but a whisper. "Why?"

Jorah stared. "Why?," She repeated, her fingers tightening their grip on his hand, "Why did you save me?"

He ripped his hand from her own and turned away. Walking towards the fire, he stated stiffly, coldly, "I swore an oath once. I have not forgotten it."

"But your oath was broken" Dany replied, "It was broken when you betrayed me, when I cast you from my service." A pause. "It ws broken when I watched you leave."

Jorah nudged the log in the hearth. "Broken vows are not forgotten vows."

"But you swore them to a Khaleesi, ser Jorah. You swore them to a Khaleesi of the Dothraki." She did not know why she was questioning him again nor what answer she was even searching for.

"I remember my vows."

"And that Khaleesi is no more! I have no khalasar, Jorah, no bloodriders nor handmaidens at my bidding. I have no horse nor have I a braid. I have no victories." Her voice grew dark with bitterness, her hands knotting into the blanket. "I am no Khaleesi."

Jorah did not look at her. "The Silver Queen, then."

A harsh laugh escaped her throat. "And what silver is there upon my brow, ser Jorah?

"The Breaker of Chains."

"And how many will be enslaved now that I have lost the Throne? How many more will know chains to fund an army?"

Jorah growled now, his knuckles white as he clutched the mantle above the hearth. His words were slow, as if each were a struggle. "The Mother of Dragons."

"I have no dragons!" Her voice cracked. She was yelling now, but she paid no heed. "I was made to watch as they were cut down. I felt their blood against my cheek! I watched it stained my boots." Tears sprung into her eyes. "I watched as-

"Daenerys Targaryen!" Jorah finally roared, shaking with fury as he kicked the fire and a thousand embers swirled around his leg. "Daenerys Stormborn," He strode towards h34, his gaze burning, "Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen!" His chest rose and fell as he awaited her answer, his breath coming quick.

"She died," Dany finally whispered, her voice void of the emotion that had threatened to overcome her a moment ago. "She died the day her dragons were butchered and the day her Throne was stolen and the day her hair was cut." She drew a little breath, her violet eyes meeting his. "And with her, so passed the last of the dragons."

Jorah was silence and the quiet settled between them. Finally, he sat down on the edge of the bed. His hand brushed through his thinning hair and he sighed, "I would have saved you once from the flames, had you not stayed my hand, and for that I would not see you lost to the ice, Daenerys." Jorah shook his head, biting down on his lip before continuing, "Since the moment of your birth, Daenerys Stormborn, all the forces in this world wanted you dead. Robert Baratheon certainly did and half the damned Realms would have cheered to hear of your spilt blood. The Free Cities loathed both you and your dragons, the promise of fire and blood you brought. Even the gods themselves, it should seem, wished you dead and broken, Daenerys. Everything in this world has conspired against you." He looked to her, his voice tinted with anger. "It was your destiny to die along ago. Knowing this, think you that I would simply stand aside and watch you fall to your fate, even now?"

Dany could only stare and Jorah ran his hand angrily through his hair again, drawing a deep breath. "Once, I stood at your side as friend and councilor and now…now, here I stand, no matter what title may grace you or whatever crown may rest upon your brow, here I stand."

_He will never abandon me_, she knew then, _not even at the ending of this world he will be at my side should I allow him. _The depth of the realization made her tremble. _Even should this world end in fire or in ice_, she knew then, _Jorah will not abandon me. _Her bear, her sweet bear, here he stood before her, strong and soft and gentle and ugly and kind and proud.

Dany stared at him a moment longer before her resolve broke. She threw her arms around him and buried her head against his chest. He stiffened in surprise, but she heard him sigh when she whispered, "I am so sorry."

"Daenerys," He murmured and she could hear the pity in his voice, "Daenerys, you need not-"

"But I do!" She interjected, "Jorah, I…I needed you there, I needed you at my side."

"…..Daenerys, I…"

"I needed you and you were not there and it…it was _my _fault. I sent you away."

"I….I would not have…you offered me a choice and I did not accept it. It was my pride that tore me away from you. It was not your fault."

Something in her snapped. The mantle that held her pain at bay, cloaking in beneath thick despair was burned away in the heat of her anger and her sorrow. Her slender hands rose to rest against the sharp planes of his cheekbones. Jorah swallowed hard, his bright eyes widening as she broke against him. "They butchered them, Jorah, they cut my children down. I was made bid to watch. I felt their blood on my cheek. It stained my hair and my dress and my boots. They screamed, Jorah, they screamed and still they were slaughtered as if they were naught but cattle. I thought I would drown in it, all that blood, that King's Landing would be swept away beneath it."

Jorah shook his head. "Daenerys, you…you need not...You need not remember such, Daenerys, not for me." He tried to look away but her gentle touch stayed his gaze.

"It would have been different, Jorah," She whispered, the prick of tears stinging her eyes, "You could have saved them, somehow, I know it." _Say it. Say what you have known. _"…You could have saved us."

He choked back a sob, his gaze blurry with tears. Dany finally allowed herself to cry, to weep for what she had known and what she had lost. Jorah pulled her close, his calloused hands trembling as she sobbed openly against him. He pressed his lips against her hair and she felt the scratch of his beard against her forehead. She clung to him as if she was drowning and she felt she was. That great wave of sorrow, of regret so pure it burning through her veins. _Admit it now,_ her mind screamed as her bear held her, _admit it._

"This was my fault," Her voice cracked, her violet eyes closing as he pulled her head to his chest. "All of this was my fault."

"Daenerys, no….no, do not think that," Jorah was insistent now, his strong chest rising and falling against her head. "This was not your fault. All of this…all that I heard, you did not bring this upon yourself."

"But I _did_, Jorah! Can't you see?" She shifted to look at him, shaking as she gestured to herself, tears coursing down her dirtied face. "I deserve to die because I should never have been born. I did not want you to save me, not from the snow. Think of it, sweet bear," Dany shook her head, a little sad, smile appearing as she admitted what she knew to be truth, "How many have suffered because of me? How many were lost because my desire for that Throne and how many countless more were brought into a war they deserved not. Because of me, the Realms will suffer under that bastard, because of me Westeros has known naught but fire and blood." Her fingers reached out to brush along the lines of his face, the ink cut into his skin as she shook her head once more, murmuring quietly, "Never did I plant a tree."

Jorah grew silent, his eyes closing at her touch. "There is still time, Daenerys," he said finally, "You are yet young. There is still yet sight in your beautiful eyes and there is blood that flows in your gentle heart. You were born to rule, yes, but need you a Throne to be a true ruler? Once you were Khaleesi, you needed no crown then." His voice grew softer yet. "Plant your trees. The earth will be glad of your gentle touch. It will not turn you away." A pause. "I will not turn you away."

She trembled.

_I can rebuild. Jorah will teach me how. I have brought fire and blood, I have brought death but also can I bring earth and water. I can bring life. I am no daughter of Death. From death comes life and from fire comes earth. I can renew. I __**live.**_

Dany felt the grey mantle that had cloaked her for so long finally fall away. That terrible mist that had clouded her eyes and stifled her breath and settled into her bones was burned away. A little laugh of joy escaped her lips, one she could not hope back. Jorah was startled but remained silent as he watched her. _And yet I breathe on, _her fingertips stroked along the lines of his tattoo, along the ridges and edges of that demon, and she smiled despite herself, _there is still yet life in these bruised limbs and blood flows in my broken heart. _There was a beauty in the ugliness, in the sores still yet fading from her bruised limbs and in her messied, raven hair. She had been a fool to blind herself to it for so long.

Dany looked at Jorah as she never had before. She took in the proud arch of his shoulders and the muscled lines of his broad chest. She felt the rough callouses of his hands and the lean strength of his arms as they held her with a gentleness she could never have expected it. Finally, her fingers brushed along the markings scarring his face. He inhaled softly, his eyes closing. He had never been handsome, her bear, and he was hideous now, flinchingly so, but beneath that monstrous guise, Jorah remained.

And so also she remained.

Before she knew what was doing, Dany leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. Jorah froze and she felt him tremble, nearly drawing back from the movement. But her kiss remained upon his mouth and a moment later he returned it. The brush of his beard against her contrasted with the softness of his lips, the gentle sweetness of his mouth. How had she forgotten this? How good, how _right_ it felt when he kissed her, when she tasted the mouth of her bear?

Jorah drew back a moment later, his eyes wide with confusion. No doubt he thought she was playing some cruel trick, some woman's game. It hurt her, to see him pull away from this, but she understood. Dany knew that she had been cruel unto him, had taken his kiss and returned it for naught. "Daenerys, you…" Jorah swallowed hard, "You do not mean this."

"I do," Her fingers brushed along his jaw and his eyes closed with a deep sigh. _Let me show you, sweet bear._ She leaned forward once more and he returned her kiss eagerly after a pause, drawing her close to him. She whispered his name and was briefly surprise when his lips parted for her, but Dany accepted his invitation and moaned as his tongue brushed along hers as it had so very long, that night aboard the ship.

Jorah deepened their kiss, his hands trailing lightly into her hair. Yes, she wanted to be touched by him, to have her black hair and her bruised limbs stoked by those calloused hands. She wanted it desperately and as she leaned back, Jorah followed until he was resting above her. A hand went out to steady himself, his body balanced above her as they continued to kiss each other hungrily. Her fingers traveled to his chest, rubbing up and down along the slender lines of muscle, and Jorah growled against her mouth, so low and deep she took note of the wetness against her thighs.

His other hand moved to cup her face and she arched her back, desperate for his touch. Dany found herself unable to think, unable to breath as her heart beat faster and faster within her chest. As Jorah nipped at her lower lip, she moaned loudly and threw her head back. Yes, she wanted this, she wanted him, her sweet bear, she _needed _him in that moment. Jorah had been soft and gentle, so tender at first she feared she might weep at it, for how long had it been she had known since as this? But he was a Mormont, he was a bear and as she urged him on, Jorah's need grew rougher. They kissed and touched each other with an absolute desperation, a feral need startling in its intensity. His mouth never left hers even as his hands trailed up and down along her side, too cautious yet to touch her when she needed him most. But still, his rough fingertips were gentle against bruised skin, exploring and seeking and wanting.

Eager to now to know him as she never had, Dany moved the palm of her hand to brush against the front of his breeches. His cock was stiff, straining against the fabric, and as she began to stroke against him, Jorah threw his head back with a deep groan. His arousal twitched against her hand, so hard it must have pained him, and his hips moved in time with her motions. "Daenerys," He moaned, his eyes closing with another growl of pleasure, "Gods…..oh gods, Daenerys,….Khaleesi…."

"Take me," She whispered in reply, pressing her lips to his gently, "Take me, sweet bear."

Jorah growled loudly and for a moment she thought he might finish then and there, his strong shoulders trembling. However, he moved from her touch suddenly, sitting upright with a determined sigh. Confused, she stared and he swallowed hard, no doubt painfully of the harness of his cock, but finally managed to speak. "You…you are not yourself, Daenerys, not..not entirely."

She opened her mouth to protest, her breath still coming quick but he shook his head, "You have been through much this day and I would not let your…your grief blind you. I…I would not have you regret this."

It must have killed him to say it, to admit he feared that while she would regret taking him here and now, but above all that she would regret him. In that moment, she loved him all the more. "I do want this," Dany sat up, kissing his cheek before he could stop her. "My sweet, kind bear, I would have…have _this, _have this night with none but you."

"But I cannot have just this night, Daenerys," Jorah said softly in return, his fingers brushing along her cheek, "I will not be contented to lie with you, to kiss you as once I did, and know that…that it did not…"_That it meant nothing_, that is what he wanted to say, she knew, _as it did before_. She was silent then, understanding of his fear; even if it pained her he had reason to feel such.

Dany nodded and moved to the edge of the bed. She had swung her legs over the side, determined to quietly return to her own room, but was stayed as Jorah's hand gently rested against her shoulder. Still now, she closed her eyes as he murmured from behind her, equal parts anxious and cautious. "You…you need not leave, not if you would…might care to stay."

Surprised, she looked over her shoulder and he continued softly, "Stay tonight, with me." She could hear the hope in his voice. "I will see you stay warm."

A few minutes later, after she had smiled and he had kissed her gently in reply, Dany settled herself beneath the thick blankets. Already she could feel the heat radiating from Jorah's form beside her and it comforted her, welcomed her and he did not protest when she set her head on his lean chest. A contented sigh escaped his lips and an arm curled around her, pulling her close against him. Dany said nothing else as she drifted off to sleep in his arms for there was nothing to be said. There was a silent understanding between them, a hope both wanted to see fulfilled.

And as her eyes closed and her breathing steadied, Dany did not dream of blood. She dreamed not of dragons and death.


End file.
